


la deriva

by drqco



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa Lives, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:34:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24212212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drqco/pseuds/drqco
Summary: they say you see your life flash before your eyes when you’re about to die, and andrés felt that in the mint. but he didn’t. die, anyway. but it’s different, when you see your soulmate slipping away from your grasp. he doesn’t feel in control anymore, because this was never part of the plan. then again, he and martín weren’t part of the plan in the first place.or, in which palermo protects nairobi from the sniper's shot.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 4
Kudos: 146





	la deriva

**Author's Note:**

> i cannot stop writing berlin lives aus 💔it's what keeps me going ...... also !! i'll be updating my group chat fic very soon :) i'm almost done with the next chapter, but i just thought of this au and i couldn't stop thinking about it ahh !! hope you enjoy !! 
> 
> title taken from "la deriva" , lcdp 3x08:)

everything happens in a flash. 

one moment, there’s a blue bear. 

the next, pills and a ringing phone. 

an angry nairobi. 

a gun pointed in his face, owned by nairobi. 

and maybe it wasn’t a good idea, following nairobi after she pointed a gun at him and told him to let her go. but he liked nairobi, and whatever happened next could ruin the plan. 

“don’t,” berlín grips his arm as he tries to follow, but he shrugs his touch away. he seems to understand. “tell her to come down,” he nods, and he nods back at him, giving him a small touch on his shoulder before leaving. 

he runs up the stairs and finds her in the governor's office, sitting against the desk, clutching the bear. a few sniffles, but she’s silent. he lets out a breath, before clicking the door closed behind him softly. “it’s your son’s bear, hm?” he asks, gauging her reaction. to his surprise, she doesn’t lash out. she scoffs, “it doesn’t smell like him anymore.” 

slowly, he makes his way over to his friend, sitting next to her. she keeps staring at the blue bear, like it holds every secret she has. “nairobi,” he says softly, getting her attention. she looks confused, hurt, it doesn’t suit her. “they did it to hurt you.” 

“i know. and now i’m really fucked because the only thing i want now is to smell my son,” she admits, tears forming in her eyes. the two of them sit in silence, with nairobi still looking like she was going to burst into tears. “i’m a horrible mother,” she shakes her head. “you did your best, in the end, it’s all that matters,” he tells her. he inches closer, leans over and takes her hand, rubs it gently. 

she tells him the story about how they took her son away. the bear held drugs, pills, whatever she needed. they would go to the park, she said. and deals would happen there, and she used him. in the end, they took him away. “they were right to do so,” tears escape her eyes, he shakes his head, gathering her in his arms. she cries for a few moments and he lets her let it out. it’s not good to keep things bottled up, he’s learned. 

after a while, the phone rings again. she looks up suddenly, clutches the bear as she answers the call. he stays a few feet away from her as she takes it, and from what he could make out, they have her son. 

she moves another room and he follows suit, he grips his gun, ready to retaliate. as she inches towards the window, it all makes sense. 

it’s a trap. 

“nairobi, get out of there!” he shouts and he jumps forward to grab her, but as he does, he feels a sharp pain in his chest, and fuck, it hurts like a bitch. even more than the glass. 

“shit,” he breathes out shakily, because everything begins to feel hazy, like a dream. there’s glass around them, the blue bear thrown to the side like it was nothing. he tries to get up and he places his hand against the wound, trying to look at it. as he does, he feels nairobi against him, shouting, “don’t touch it!” she helps him open his jumpsuit but once they open it, there’s blood everywhere, on his neck, his chest, in his mouth. 

he’s too in shock to say anything else, he just gasps and gasps because air was starting to get hard to come by. his ears ring and he rips off the eyepatch, because he doesn’t want to die with it. he might die, now. he isn’t as panicked as he thought he’d be. 

“help! berlín! denver! tokyo! helsi!” nairobi’s shouts are deafening and even through the pain, he murmurs a, “shut up,” and she looks as though she was going to slap him. her tears are flowing freely, but then he hears the footsteps. 

he hears helsinki’s gruff voice, and tokyo, who’s by his side in an instant. she looks angry, mad, but she still holds him. “i’m going to kill you if you close your eyes,” she tells him, and it feels like when she held the gun to his mouth. helsinki is here too, and he can’t help but tell his friend, “don’t cry.” it doesn’t work, he cries anyway. 

“helsinki! defcon dos!” he hears berlín’s booming voice, the voice he’s grown so accustomed to. a small smile rests on his lips. “palermo,” he hears helsinki tell him weakly. 

“what hap-,” he hears berlín’s voice, but he stops talking and palermo presumes he’s seen the state he’s in. the footsteps grow closer and closer, until berlín enters his vision, and with the way he looks at him, he’s andrés, now. 

“andrés,” he whines quietly, struggling to breathe. he tries to cup his face, hold him, do something, but the pain prevents him. he watches as berlín pushes nairobi off, and holds him himself, a look of distress on his face. “martín,” he responds, though he doesn’t as desperate as him. he’s calm, collected, focused, it’s part of why he loves him so much. “no palermo after this, hm?” he gets out, hissing as he tries to breathe. 

“i want music, andrés. good, sweet, music. and dancing. dance over my fucking grave,” he grits out, gripping his wrist tightly. it’s what he wanted, for his funeral. dancing and music, a fucking fiesta. why make it boring? 

“no, you’re fucking immortal, amor,” berlín tells him gently. “go, helsinki. defcon dos. you command, tokyo and rio will fire!” he shouts. 

then he feels numb. 

\--- 

they say you see your life flash before your eyes when you’re about to die, and andrés felt that in the mint. but he didn’t. die, anyway. 

but it’s different, when you see your soulmate slipping away from your grasp. he doesn’t feel in control anymore, because this was never part of the plan. then again, he and martín weren’t part of the plan in the first place. 

“hang in there, palermo,” nairobi shouts at him, as she pushes their makeshift gurney from he back. he helps from alongside him, alternating his gaze from ahead to martín, who lays motionless on the gurney. his eyes are still open and he blinks occasionally, opens his mouth to try and get words out. but there’s too much blood. he’s covered in it. 

helsinki is on the other side, a hand pressed to his wound, his hand covered in blood. he’s shouting, he’s teary eyed. berlín knows how much he cares for him. 

he’s been trying to suppress his panic for the last few minutes, because it’s started to creep up on him. he doesn’t know what he’d do if he lost martín. a future without him seemed lifeless, empty. in fact, he doesn’t expect a future for himself if he loses martín. he’s dying soon, anyway. 

they make their way into the library, where stockholm and rio await with the medical equipment. martín’s breathing is audible, turned into loud gasps. “shh, shh,” he whispers, holds his face as all of them strip him. he should be doing more, helping them in preparing for the actual operation, but his mind is starting to feel hazy now. 

“andrés,” martín leans into his touch, like a cat with his owner. “just breathe,” andrés whispers back, cutting through martín’s shirt to reveal the wound. he helps put a censor on his chest, let’s denver hook it up to the machine. they handle him so he rests on his side, facing him as helsinki tries to look for the bullet. 

“it’s here, behind the seventh rib,” helsinki declared, and nairobi comforted, “lower part of the lung, palermo, it’s going to be okay.” but then the monitors start beeping rapidly, and martín starts wheezing, like he can’t breathe. 

things get hazy, he loses grip. and it’s not good, to lose control in the middle of an operation, it’s a slip up on his part. but he barely can hear the shouts of his team members, he focuses on martín, who was choking and wheezing. “berlín!” nairobi shouts at him from across the gurney. he looks up at her and she slaps him hard against his cheek. 

he’s thankful, because finally he’s pulled out of his daze. “surgical kit six,” she snapped. he leaves martín’s side for a second, fumbling around for the syringe, until he finds it and hands it over to helsinki, his hands too shaky. everyone else has finally made it, and they all surround him as his breathing returns to normal. 

“la concha de tu madre,” is the first thing he breathes out, and it eases him for a moment. 

he hears helsinki and nairobi let out a breath and everyone steps back for a minute to breathe as well. andrés stays in place, hand finding his way to martín’s own. he grips it, it grounds him. “we leave together,” he sighed, staring into martín’s blue eyes. “don’t talk to me about that grave bullshit. i’ll kill you,” andrés tries to joke around. his lover tries to laugh, but it comes out as a wheeze. 

“i’m going to die here,” whispers martín, and everyone inches closer. if andrés could, he’d punch him right now. “you’ll kill me, if you cut me open,” he continues. tokyo beside him sighs, closes her eyes. helsinki stares, everyone does. andrés knows this, they’ll be cutting into the lung. too complicated, perhaps impossible. but he’s not going to send him out there. never. 

“we can do it,” helsinki nods at him, already preparing for the operation. everyone is ready, but they know the risks. one wrong move of a finger, and martín’s dead. gone. 

“if you send me out, you won’t need to spend time here. you need to melt quicker, i’ll be better out there. focus on the plan.” 

“i’m not letting you go out there. under no circumstances, palermo,” he commanded, snapping back into _berlín._ he feels a hand on his shoulder, nairobi’s voice enters his ears, “berlín, if we let him out—” 

“we’re not letting him out, that’s final!” he shouts, startling everyone, including martín. nairobi lets go of his shoulder, no more arguments fall out of anyone’s mouth. well, except martín. 

“you know i won’t betray you, andrés,” martín tries, nodding his head. andrés knows he wouldn’t. but it doesn’t matter, anyway. he’d be dead. “i know, querido. but they’ll shoot on sight, martín. you’ll be dead even before you’re halfway out the door.” martín seems to understand. 

“go, then. focus on the plan, the gold,” martín stammers, as his breathing starts to get uneven. “te quiero. i cannot lose you,” he whispers. and with one squeeze of his hand and kiss pressed to martín’s forehead, he steps back. 

“get ready for the operation. get the governor. everyone, except nairobi. i need her,” he admits. he looks her in the eye, and nods. she’s always been a good leader, good enough to replace martín, anyway. in an instant, everyone shuffles into action, with nairobi slotting herself to his side. he watches as martín is put to sleep, his whimpers finally quieted. “i’m sorry,” nairobi apologizes, looking in his eyes. 

he can’t blame her—it’s not her fault. it was martín’s choice to protect her and it was the sniper’s fault martín was teetering between life and death. not nairobi’s. “don’t blame yourself. it’s not your fault.” 

“he’s dying because i—”

“i said what i said, nairobi. it’s final. go check on the gold—tell them to go faster,” he stepped closer to put a hand on her shoulder as well, motions with his head out the door. nodding, she turns and runs out, rifle still slung on her shoulder. 

and with one last look at martín, he leaves too. 

\--- 

after some time, martín wakes up. 

andrés didn’t keep track, he was too focused on his brother and the plan ahead. though he wished he did. sometimes, his mode of “forgetting every emotional attachment he has to focus” didn’t always bring good. 

but he was grateful martín woke up during his two hour break, he’d be able to spend more time with him. 

“berlín, he’s awake,” bogotá says to him as he makes his way to the library to pick up something before going to martín’s room. he quirks his head to his side, when bogotá motions to martín’s with his head. 

he follows bogotá, through the halls before they make it to martín’s. he’s lying down still, but he doesn’t need oxygen anymore. the nurse attends to him, before andrés makes his presence known. “thank you,” he murmurs to the nurse, who looks up at him, looking scared. “bogotá, take her to the rest. bring her back in two hours.” the nurse immediately moves forward, following bogotá out. he shuts the door behind him. 

in an instant, he’s by martín’s side. holding him, touching him, looking in his eyes. they’re pure art. 

“how do you feel?” he asks, pulling a chair to sit by him. martín turns his head slightly, giving him a small smile and a squeeze of a hand. “i can breathe. a bit dizzy,” his accent is thicker when he’s tired, andrés thinks. “what happened when i was out?” martín grunts, trying to sit up. gently, andrés pushes the argentine down, letting him rest. 

“sergio thinks lisbon has been executed—i told him otherwise. the gold is melting and the hostages are fine,” he says absentmindedly, more focused on running his hands through martín’s soft hair. “how’s nairobi?” martín inquired, closing his eyes and letting him pet his hair. 

“i told her not to blame herself. it’s not her fault,” he inches closer to him, a few centimeters away from martín’s face. “good. how are you? did you worry?” 

“so many questions,” laughs andrés, his hands finding their way to martín’s cheeks, drawing small circles with his thumbs soothingly. martín seems to purr, leaning into his touch. he loves martín for this. he can’t wait to kiss him properly, but not now, because he’d quite literally take all of martín’s breath away. 

“answer,” he mumbles, his breathing coming to a slow. “i’m fine. i was scared, to be honest with you, martín. i cannot live without you.” 

“me neither,” martín opens his eyes at that, reaching forward to hold andrés’ cheek as well. “you look tired, andrés. nap,” with those words, he actually realizes how tired he feels. he shouldn’t be this tired, but after the scare with martín, he feels like fifty years have been taken off his lifespan. he rests his head on the small space next to martín’s side, closing his eyes. he feels martín rest his hand against the nape of his neck, drawing circles and running his hand through his hair. 

perhaps, he can rest.


End file.
